Last Summer
by Citrine
Summary: A last summer in the Shire before FOTR. Sweet and fluffy, starring our favorite Hobbits. Grated, no slash.
1. Morning

It was high summer, and all of Hobbiton seemed sleepy and quiet in the heat. Frodo Baggins was stretched out on his back on the roof of Bag End while waiting for his cousins, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, to arrive. He had a book in his hand, but he felt too warm and drowsy to read it. He had enjoyed a nice early breakfast and was feeling quite full and comfortable, although the day was already very warm and hot dapples of sunlight kept filtering through the leaves of the tree overhead, flickering on his half-closed eyes. As the Master of Bag End (a title he was still not quite accustomed to,) there were many more important things he could have been doing while he was waiting, but he didn't feel like doing them. The long grass felt cool and pleasant, and moving seemed like such a bother.

He had almost fallen asleep when he was alerted by a noise down below. He rolled over and crawled through the sun-browned grass. _It needs a cutting; have to remind Sam about that, _Frodo thought absent-mindedly. He looked down on the curly brown heads of Merry and Pippin as they stood on the doorstep. They were early. As he watched, Pippin (looking very dressy and rather overheated in a dark green woolen jacket and waistcoat,) reached out and rang the bell.

"We come all this way, and he's not even awake!" Merry grumbled, and then pounded the door with his fist. "Wake up, cousin! We know you're in there! Just because you're the Master of Bag End doesn't mean you can sleep the day away!"

"We demand second breakfast!" Pippin added, giving the bell a ferocious yank.

Frodo wondered how long it would take them to find him if he stayed quiet, and the idea made him snort. Merry looked up. "Aha, I see you there!" 

He went around the side of the hill and started to climb up, using clumps of grass as handholds. He was sweating by the time he reached the top. Pippin followed with a lot less effort-he wasn't quite as stout as Merry-but he was still panting. "Well that's nice! Lazing about in the shade while we perish from hunger. I don't suppose there's anything left?"

"There's plenty left," Frodo said. "But I've had my breakfast, so you'll have to serve yourself."

"Oh, bother," Pippin said. "I just got up here." But hunger won out over exhaustion and he started back down.

"Bring me something, will you?" Merry said. "Some nice cheese, or maybe some ham, or buttered toast and jam."

"Oh, that sounds good," Frodo said, grinning. "Ham on toast, please. And some pickles. And some seed-cake."

Merry winked at Frodo. "And some apples and pears! Don't forget the salt."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Pippin muttered. Being the youngest certainly had its disadvantages, and being bossed around mercilessly was only one of them. "Why don't we just have a picnic up here, while we're at it?"

"Good idea!" Frodo and Merry both said at once, then laughed like loons. Pippin raised his hands in despair and gave up.

Merry took off his coat and folded it into a pillow, then lay back in the grass, looking up at the sky with his hands behind his head. "Hot one today."

"Hm."

"Good for the hay," Merry remarked. "How are you getting along?"

"Very well, thank you," Frodo sighed. "But I miss Bilbo. I'd give a lot to see him tramping up the road some evening. And Gandalf. Do you know, it's been almost nine years since I last saw Gandalf! I do hope he shows up for the birthday parties this September."

"Me, too," Merry said. "I'd like Pip to be able to see his fireworks. He was really too young to remember them the last time, you know. Remember the dragon firework? That was the best one."

Frodo smiled. "If I recall correctly, you screamed and hid under the table."

"Well, I was just a little lad, myself." Merry's cheeks had turned red. He cleared his throat. "And here's Pip with the food."

Pip was struggling up the slope with his arms full of food, cups, plates, utensils, a cloth and a jug of ale. "A little help here, if you please!"

Merry and Frodo got up and helped him lay everything out. Merry rolled up his shirtsleeves and Pippin shook out a napkin. Frodo heard a cheery whistling and looked down again. Sam was coming along with a hoe over his shoulder. "Good morning, Sam!" Frodo called. "Come up and have some second breakfast with us!"

Sam looked around, wondering where the voice was coming from, then saw Frodo waving to him from the roof of Bag End. "Thank you, Mr. Frodo, don't mind if I do." He clambered up and leaned his hoe against the side of the tree, then sat down and mopped his face with a red handkerchief. "Mornin' Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin. Hot day, isn't it?"

Merry paused in his eating to press a cup of ale into his hand, and Frodo and Pippin piled food on his plate. Pippin hadn't spared the cellar and larder, so there was plenty to go around. They munched along in silence for quite some time, only commenting now and then on the excellence of the ale, or the pleasant twang of the cheese and pickles. Before too long they pushed the plates away, feeling stuffed and content. Sam crawled around stacking the plates, utensils, cups, and jars, brushing crumbs off the cloth and wrapping the leftovers (there weren't too many of these,) over Frodo's protests that he would get it later. "Can't be lettin' the ants into it," Sam insisted. "No waste, no want, as my Gaffer always says."

Pippin burped gently and leaned back in the grass. "Pardon me."

"I'm trying my best," Merry said. He was leaning back on his elbows, with his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. "I say, Frodo, doesn't that cloud there look like a face? Rather like your cousin Lobelia."

"More like Lotho," Pippin said. "Especially around the ears." He was feeling rather sleepy and wondered if it would be worth the effort to hunt up a grasshopper to drop down Merry's shirt.

"It depends," Frodo said, his voice slightly muffled, since his book was tented open over his face. "Does it have its mouth open?"

This caused a round of helpless laughter, and Sam giggled until he fell over on his side. He had been at the receiving end of Mistress Lobelia's tongue-lashings on more than one occasion. Sam squinted up at the sky. "That one there kinda looks like a dragon. Big one, too, like that there Smaug in Old Mr. Bilbo's tales."

"Frodo! Frodo Baggins!"

"Speaking of dragons…" Merry muttered under his breath.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, her straw bonnet firmly in place, the red ribbons tied tightly under her many chins, was marching down the dusty road toward Bag End. "Get down!" Frodo hissed, quite unnecessarily as it turned out, since Merry, Pip, and Sam had already thrown themselves flat. They crawled as close as they dared to the edge of the roof and looked down at the top of her bonnet as she came through the gate, stalked up the walk, and rang the bell.

"Well, this is a fine kettle of fish," Sam said. "What should we do, Mr. Frodo?"

"Invite her in and make some tea, I suppose," Frodo said, with a sinking heart. She would probably stay all day, and she'd have plenty to say about the state of Bag End since he had become the Master, and none of it would be good. She had never liked Bilbo, and she detested Frodo.

"No, no, NO," Merry whispered, clutching his sleeve. "We came to visit you, Frodo, not to sit in a stuffy parlor all day and listen to Lobelia run on!"

"Don't go down there!" Pippin urged, clinging to his other sleeve. "The day will be ruined!" 

"Very well. But how are we to escape?"

They were quiet for a bit, digesting this. Lobelia was tapping her foot impatiently, but she showed no signs of leaving. She turned and pounded on the door, the last resort of impatient Hobbits. "Frodo Baggins, answer the door this instant!"

"We need a diversion," Merry said finally.

"I'll draw her off," Sam said. "High time I was getting' back to work, anyway." He started to scoot backward down the hill. "Reckon I'll come get these things when she's finished with me. Thank you for the second breakfast, Mr. Frodo." 

"Brave Sam!" Merry said with feeling, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Noble Sam!" Pippin laughed out loud and tried to smother it with his hand.

"Shh!" Frodo hissed. Pippin's laugh had attracted Lobelia's attention and she was looking round curiously. "No thanks necessary, Sam. Feel free to drop by later for some supper."

Sam crawled out of sight, and before too long they saw him come around the corner with his hoe, mopping his face as if he had been hard at work. "Good morning to you, Missus Lobelia. Hot day, isn't it?

Lobelia pounced on him, shaking her parasol in his face. "There you are! Where has that young fool of a Baggins got to, eh?"

"Can't say as I know, Missus. Reckon he went for a walk." Lobelia was facing Sam with her back to Bag End. Sam looked discreetly up and over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow slightly. Three anxious faces, almost hidden in the long grass, peered down at them. One of the hidden figures raised an arm and gave him a thumbs-up gesture. 

"A walk!" Lobelia bellowed. (Lobelia was well into her nineties, old even for a Hobbit, and she was growing slightly deaf in her old age.) "In this heat? Not very likely! Try again, young Hobbit."

"Sounds like a fine idea," Merry said quietly. 

"We should go now," Frodo whispered. Using all their Hobbit stealth, they crept away, Lobelia's squawking voice following them until Bag End was well out of sight. _Poor old Sam! _Frodo thought. _What a sacrifice! _He would have to do something really nice for him later on to make up for his suffering. 

****************

To Be Continued.

Other folks have covered this ground much more successfully than I, (Oselle, Shirebound, Baylor, to name a few,) but I suppose everyone's got at least one Hobbit story in their system, and this one's mine. 

Disclaimer: Tolkien's heirs own all characters and settings. I own nothing but my imagination, which goes berserk occasionally, picks up LOTR characters in its frothy jaws and carries them off to play with. (Down, Imagination! Down! Drop 'em! Drop! Good girl.)

A gigantic thanks you to everyone who has reviewed my previous stories! Especial thanks to Marnie and Sidh Ceili: WOW! Reviews like yours make me blush! 


	2. Afternoon

Frodo, Merry, and Pippin made good their escape and wandered hither and yon over Hobbiton, through pastures and hayfields, pausing occasionally at a well for a drink of water. The sun blazed down from a cruel blue sky, with scarcely a wisp of cloud, and the brown and gold grasshoppers whirred and hummed around them as they walked. Pippin felt miserably hot and uncomfortable in his heavy coat and waistcoat. Before too long his face was beet-red and perspiring, and he had forgotten his handkerchief, so the sweat dripped into his eyes, making them water and sting. His idea of a good time was a half-pint in the cool dimness of The Green Dragon, not a torturous tramp in the midday sun. He almost wished he had been the one to distract Lobelia: A tongue-lashing now seemed highly preferable to slowly baking to death in his jacket, like some sort of Took-shaped potato.

Now as they walked through an orchard, Frodo and Merry were deep in discussion about bakers and cooks and musicians, making plans for Frodo's birthday party that fall. Pippin loved a party, and he wouldn't have missed Frodo's party for the world, but he would rather attend a party than plan it and the little, niggling details bored him silly. Merry had been acting so dreadfully grown-up and serious lately. How he wished they would stop talking to each other for a while and pay attention to him! 

He was horribly thirsty and his tongue tasted like a piece of flannel. He wished desperately for a cool drink, but the only water in sight was a cow pond at the edge of the orchard. "I say, you two!" He finally gasped. "Can't we have a rest?"

Merry and Frodo walked on, their heads close together. Frodo was bent a little forward as he walked, hands clasped behind his back, and Merry had unconsciously assumed the same posture. "I think we should get the beer from the Prancing Pony in Bree," Merry was saying. "My people get out there occasionally, and they say it's very good."

"How many barrels then, do you think?" Frodo replied.

Pippin curled his lip. He had worn his new winter suit, hoping someone would comment on it so he could show it off, but he might as well have been wearing a sack, for all they noticed. He was thirsty, and tired, and hot, and he was getting hungry, and no one seemed to care. The ground was scattered with fallen apples, most of them the home of little green worms and slowly turning to mush. Pippin scooped one up and hurled it at Merry's head. It flew through the air in a beautiful arc and connected with a satisfying splat.

"Hi!" Merry cried, clutching his head. He whirled around. Pippin had already picked up another apple for a second try, but now he dropped it and put his hands behind his back. Merry's face flushed and his eyes narrowed. "Why, you little devil! What was that for?"

Pippin was already sorry; he hadn't meant to throw the apple that hard, and it was a lot softer than he had thought. "What?" He said innocently. "Oh, terribly dangerous places, these orchards, aren't they? The trees will attack you as soon as look at you."

"Oho, I'll show you dangerous, my lad," Merry said, grinning evilly. "Cousin, do you know that our little Pip is still ticklish?"

"Fascinating," Frodo said. "I'd be very interested to see just _how_ ticklish."

"Let me show you," Merry said. 

Pippin yelled and took off, Merry and Frodo in pursuit. The grass was high and in some places nearly up to a Hobbit's waist. They had to leap like deer to make their way. Pippin, being the shortest, could have easily crouched down and vanished from sight, but he was having too much fun being chased. The apples flew thick and fast, and they slipped and slid in the ancient windfalls. Merry finally caught Pippin in a flying tackle and they fell to the ground. "Mercy!" Pippin cried, but Merry hadn't started to tickle him; he was sitting up and clutching his hand.

"Oh, curse it all," Merry said.

"What's wrong?" Frodo asked.

Merry held up his hand. A thin line of blood had welled up along the palm and was beginning to run down the wrist. "I've fallen on a stick and cut myself."

Frodo took out his handkerchief and started binding the wound. "I think we'd better get back and tend to it. It's high time for dinner, anyway."

"Not so tight, Frodo, you'll cut off my circulation!" Merry winced. "I can't lift a fork if my hand falls off." 

"We can't have you dripping all over Bag End; what would Lobelia say? Bloodstains lower the property value." Blood began to seep through the white cloth. "That should do for now. Think you'll live?"

"It's a long way from my heart," Merry said. "I suppose I'll make it." 

Pippin had turned an alarming shade of white as he stared at Merry's hand. Some rude person grabbed the edge of the world and tipped it, causing him to sway. The edges of his vision filled with cheery twinkles, like stardust, and he fell forward into Frodo's arms. The unexpected weight knocked him to the ground and he landed on his rump, Pippin sprawled across his lap. 

"Oh, do get up, Pip," Frodo said, pushing him off. "That's not the least bit funny." 

"Pippin?" Merry shook him and patted his cheeks. Pippin's face was the color of paste, and they could see the whites of his eyes beneath his half-closed lids. "Pippin! Wake up, lad!" 

Frodo worriedly put a hand on Pippin's clammy forehead. "Oh, dear," Frodo said. "Now Pippin's fainted."


	3. Late Afternoon

Anyone looking down on Bag End late that afternoon would have seen a peculiar sight: Three Hobbits were staggering up the walk. The two taller Hobbits were supporting a smaller Hobbit between them. They were both red in the face from exertion, while the smaller one looked slightly white around the mouth, and all three were covered with dirt, grass-stains, and dried smears of what looked to be applesauce. To add to their startling appearance, the stockiest Hobbit of the three had a bloody cloth wrapped around his hand, and had inadvertently decorated his companions with gory smudges from head to foot.

Sam had been sweeping grass clippings off the walk, and now he looked up. The broom fell from his hands. "Save us!" He gasped.

"Steady, Sam!" Frodo said. "Don't you go fainting away on us now; we've got our hands full at the moment."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Merry said. "I just had a little accident, and Pip has had a little too much sun."

"A troll fell on me," Pippin said, with woozy good cheer. His memory was a little fuzzy as to what exactly had happened to him, and how he had gotten to this point. He had a dim notion that he might have been carried over Merry's shoulder part of the way, not unlike a sack of laundry. He frowned at Merry accusingly. "And Merry dropped me on my head."

This much was true. During an early attempt by Frodo and Merry to carry him, Merry's hands had shaken so badly that he had dropped his end of the load. "Poor old Pip!" Merry said. "He's out of his head, I'm afraid."

Sam held the door open and they all went in. The interior of Bag End was dim and blessedly cooler than out of doors. "Let's put him on the sofa," Frodo said, steering them toward the parlor.

Unfortunately, the better part of the sofa was taken up by Lobelia, her chin sunken onto her chest and snoring gently, her bonnet askew. A cup of cold tea was at her elbow. Frodo looked at Sam, who blushed red and muttered, "I'm dreadful sorry, Mr. Frodo. I did my best to fend her off, but she said she'd wait, so I let her in and gave her a cup of tea." 

Frodo sighed. "You did just the right thing, Sam. It would have been impolite to let her roast on the doorstep." He cleared his throat. "Good afternoon, Cousin Lobelia!"

Lobelia awoke with a startled snort and pushed her bonnet out of her eyes. "Good heavens! Samwise said you had gone for a walk, but you look as though you've been through the wars!" She struggled up from the sofa and gave Pip a not altogether ungentle poke in the chest with her finger. "You're not looking so well, young Hobbit. Serves you right, gallivanting about in the hot sun. How do you feel?"

"Sick," Pippin admitted. And embarrassed, he might have added. Swooning into a bed of rotten apples was not at all what he had planned for the day.

"Sweet peppermint tea is what you need!" Lobelia said. "Settle your stomach! Cool tea, mind you! Nothing hot, and no spirits, either!" Sam and Merry looked at each other, and then at Frodo, who shrugged. Lobelia seemed to be taking charge of the situation. "Well, what are you all standing about for? Get the lad to bed while I make some tea. Come along, Samwise!"

Sam glanced at Frodo somewhat desperately, but there was no help there. He sighed. "Yes, Missus."

"Off we go again, Pip," Frodo said. "You can have my old room."

"Ah no, are we moving again?" Pippin groaned. He had a terrible headache. "Can't I just lie down here?"

"There, there, Pip," Merry said. He still felt guilty for dropping Pippin's head in the dirt. "Just a little further on and you can rest. We'll get you cleaned up and a nice, cool cloth for your head."

"Keep the troll out of the room," Pippin mumbled. "Talks too loud." Merry wasn't sure if Pippin's mind was still addled or if he was talking about Lobelia.

~~~~~~~~

Pippin was tidied up and made to drink some tea, then put to bed with a cool, damp cloth over his eyes. The other Hobbits had then retired to the kitchen for a bite to eat and a well-deserved drink to settle their nerves. "To the little lad!" Lobelia said, raising her glass. "May he feel better soon, the poor little dear." She seemed to have developed a fondness for Pippin.

"Here, here!" Frodo said. _Never underestimate the power of a pair of big, green, sorrowful eyes,_ he thought, smiling wickedly over the rim of his glass at Merry and Sam. "You have been a great help to me today, Cousin Lobelia, and I thank you. Will you being staying for supper?"

Sam choked on his brandy and Merry patted him on the back distractedly. His hand-now bound in a clean bandage-had been expertly, if rather roughly tended by Lobelia, who had insisted on doing it, and it was still stinging. And Lobelia had rapped his knuckles sharply with a teaspoon when he had reached for a blackberry cobbler on the table afterwards. "For the invalid!" She had barked. "He'll need to build up his strength!" _Please say no, oh please, please, _Merry thought.

"No, thank you!" Lobelia said, banging her glass down on the table. "I must be going; Lotho will be expecting me. But first I should like another look at the poor little lad."

So they trooped to Frodo's room. Pippin was curled up on his side, facing toward the door, the cloth covering everything but his mouth and his nose, the tip of which was badly sunburned. He was breathing deeply and evenly and seemed to be asleep. "Poor little dear!" Lobelia stooped and patted his head. "He's far too thin, but not everyone can be a big, strapping lad like my Lotho, I suppose."

Merry choked back a giggle, and Sam snorted. Lobelia's son, Lotho, was short and rotund, 'strapping' only to Lobelia, and he hadn't been a 'lad' for a number of years. Frodo gave them a warning look. Lobelia stood up and settled her bonnet on her head. "Well, now I must be off! Escort me, Samwise!"

Sam looked at Frodo with big, pleading eyes. "I'm sure Sam has some chores to do," Frodo said, taking her by the arm. Poor Sam had suffered enough for one day. "I'll see you home and we'll have a nice little chat on the way."

"Indeed we will!" Lobelia huffed. "I have a thing or two to say to you about the state of affairs around here, and how a proper young gentlehobbit ought to behave!" She looked around. "Dash it all, now where has my parasol got to?"

Sam saw his chance for escape. "You must have left it in the kitchen, Missus. I'll go fetch it." Sam wouldn't have dared to accuse a Lady of petty thievery to her face, but he reminded himself to check inside her parasol before he handed it over. The last time she had visited Bag End she had managed to make off with two silver serving forks and a ladle. 

Lobelia and Frodo left the room. Lobelia's voice came through loud and clear as she gave various instructions about Pippin's care, but Frodo's voice was no more than a polite murmur. There was more low conversation with Sam in the Parlor, then the front door opened and closed. Soon Merry heard Sam in the kitchen, no doubt tidying up the mess from dinner and washing up the brandy glasses. Merry sighed with relief and looked at Pippin. He reached out and gently touched his hair. Poor Pip. Well, he'd be right as rain in a day or so; he was a tough little nut to crack. Merry picked up the empty teacup and saucer from the nightstand.

"Is she gone?"

Merry squawked and nearly dropped the teacup. Pippin lifted the cloth and peeked out. "You little faker!" Merry cried. "We thought you were asleep!"

"I _was_ asleep," Pippin said, squeezing his eyes shut. "And I would _still _be sleeping-that is, if certain Hobbits didn't stand around me clucking and fussing like a bunch of hens. And would you please keep your voice down? My head is splitting."

Merry said, in a much lower tone of voice, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," Pippin said. "My head aches and I feel worn out, that's all. How's your hand?" 

"Sore. Lobelia tended it, and she nearly killed me to cure me." Merry made a pained face. "Be thankful that you escaped her clutches, Peregrin Took."

Pippin giggled, but then his face changed and he looked as though he might cry.

"I've ruined everything. I know you and Frodo had plans for this evening, and I've gone and spoiled them. I'm sorry." 

Merry laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Now, don't be silly. You haven't spoiled anything. This just gives me an excuse to stay on here at Bag End for a few more days; I'm sure my father can spare me from Brandy Hall for that long. As a matter of fact, first thing tomorrow, I'll send a letter to your parents, telling them that you're not feeling well, so you're staying with Frodo for a bit longer, too. And then tomorrow evening, or whenever you feel up to it, you and I, and Frodo, and Freddy and Folco, can all go down to the Green Dragon and have a good time. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful," Pippin sighed. He had a sudden, frightening image of his mother and all three of his sisters, with their numerous and noisy offspring, descending on Bag End with bowls of chicken soup. His eyes widened and he sat up. "But don't make it sound too serious!"

Merry laughed again. "I certainly won't! Your mother would have my head if she thought I had let you get sunstroke, and I like my head right where it is, thank you very much."

Pippin sighed again, this time with relief, and rolled over to face the open window. He yawned and his eyelids drooped. Clouds were building on the horizon, and a cool breeze blew in over the windowsill, bringing the taste of dust and the smell of the rain, faint and far away. Merry pounded a pillow until it was just the right shape to support his back, and then stretched out with his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes and thought of the now defenseless blackberry cobbler, sitting on the table in the kitchen, cowering under a red-checked napkin. _I'll just sit here until Pip nods off, _Merry thought, smiling. _Then little blackberry cobbler, you are mine, all mine…_

**************

Tathar: Awww, you're so sweet to say such nice things about my stories! I'm glad somebody took a look at 'A Path With No Returning'. It's not great literature, but I sure cried buckets while I was writing it, and I'm happy to see it moved someone the way it moved me. Thanks!


	4. Evening

Frodo returned to Bag End early in the evening. Clouds were covering the setting sun, the air was cooler, and all the long grass was bending over in the freshening breeze, turning silver under the darkening sky. Sam was sitting on the bench by the front door, smoking a pipe. He stood up when Frodo opened the gate. "Evening, Mr. Frodo."

"Good evening, Sam. Don't let me interrupt you. As a matter of fact, I think I'll join you. I haven't had a pipe since before first breakfast." Frodo sat down beside Sam and took out his pipe. They sat in silence for a long while, quietly enjoying each other's company, while watching lights appear in the windows of all the little houses and holes.

When the Hobbits that had come out to enjoy the cooler air started to go back inside, Sam tapped out his pipe. "Suppose I should be getting home. Have a good night, Mr. Frodo."

"You too, Sam. I had better check in on Pippin and see if he's hungry, although I imagine he's asleep."

"I don't know," Sam said. "I heard Mr. Merry and him laughing a while ago. You might want to check your pantry, Mr. Frodo."

"Oh dear," Frodo laughed. "That does sound ominous. They've probably eaten me out of hole and home by now."

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, I nearly forgot!" Sam reached into his shirt and brought out a small book with a yellow cover. "I found your book when I was tidying up on the roof this morning." His face reddened. "I was reading it. I hope you don't mind."

"Heavens no, Sam! I'm just glad you found it before it got dewed on and ruined."

"I only got to read the first few pages, and I can't say I understand it all," Sam said. "But it's all about Elves, isn't it, sir? All about them and their great deeds? Could I maybe borrow it sometime? I'd dearly love to read the rest of it."

"Yes, it's mostly about Elves, but there's a bit about Men, as well," Frodo said, and smiled. "And you can take the book home right now, Sam, and keep it, too."

"For good and all?"

"For good and all."

"Oh my." Sam held the book, wearing a slightly stunned expression. He touched the cover reverently. Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo were just about the finest hobbits alive, in Sam's opinion. Old Mr. Bilbo had taught him his letters, and Mr. Frodo was the very soul of kindness; a hobbit couldn't ask for a kinder, more generous master. You could put a crown on a dog and it wouldn't make him a prince, but dress Mr. Frodo in tatters and rags and the quality would still shine right on through, just like he had a light inside. He wished suddenly, there on the green grass of Bag End, that he could do something for Frodo besides tending his garden or cleaning up his kitchen, something great and good. Wouldn't his Gaffer laugh at that mad notion! What on earth could a simple hobbit like Sam Gamgee ever do for a fine gentlehobbit like Frodo Baggins_? But I will, _Sam thought stubbornly. _I'll find a way to pay him back someday, even if I have to follow him to the ends of the world to get the job done. _"I'll take such care of it, sir. I'll treat it like it was gold."

Frodo stood up and patted Sam on the back. "I know you will, Sam. You have performed above and beyond the call of duty today: You deserve a medal for putting up with Lobelia, not just a book! Don't go reading it all at once, now, you'll strain your eyes."

"Oh, I will, I mean, I won't! Thank you, sir!" Sam hugged the book to his chest and ran off toward his home. Frodo watched him go, then knocked the ashes out of his pipe and went inside.

Bag End was dark and quiet. Frodo wandered down the hall to his old room and looked in. Merry and Pippin were squashed together on his narrow bed. Pippin was dangerously close to the edge, with one leg and an arm hanging off. Merry had obviously been sitting up in the bed, but he had slid down until his cheek was resting on the top of Pippin's head. He was snoring. The room had grown surprisingly chilly, so Frodo went to the window and closed it, then got a quilt out of the blanket chest at the foot of the bed. He held the quilt under one arm while he shoved Pippin back into place. Merry rolled over when Frodo threw the quilt over them. "Cobbler?" he said with his eyes closed.

"No, just Frodo, I'm afraid," Frodo whispered. "You'll have to wait and see cobbler in the morning," He tucked the quilt in around their feet. "Sleep well, lads."

The storm that threatened still had not come, so Frodo went back to his garden bench. It had been a long, eventful day and he felt drowsy and peaceful, but not quite tired enough for bed, so he sat in the dark for a long time and looked out over Hobbiton. "Goodnight, Hobbiton," Frodo said. "Gamgees, Bolgers, Boffins, Proudfoots." Frodo smiled to himself. "That is, Proud_feets, _all various and sundry distant relations, and dear friends in residence. Sleep well, all. Goodnight, Shire." He looked east, toward distant Rivendell and whatever lay beyond, toward whatever road Bilbo might travelling on. "Goodnight, Bilbo."

The End.

Thank you, Tathar! Multi-chapter stories live or die by reviews, and you single-handedly kept this sucker alive, when I was seriously considering pulling the plug!


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